i'm here. and i'm inappropriate.

hi friends. what's the good word? TELL ME EVERYTHING.
but anyway.  the other day i was thinking about how much i hate working at the restaurant and how mostly it made me hate myself more than i normally did on a daily basis.  but then i also started thinking about how the restaurant is the place (besides in the home) where i'm most comfortable being my highly inappropriate self and have it be accepted by actual other human beings.
so here is the first installment of "shit you hear in a restaurant kitchen."
from me: "SON OF A BITCH.  diego? jose? miguel?  which one of you keeps putting canned goods in my purse?"
from suddenly scott: "when people look at me they think sunshine! handsome! pina colada!  i just picked up my shirt from martinizing - i don't even need to pop my collar."
from me: "i'm going to cut the dick off the next person that takes my food."
from me: "is the new busser eighteen?  i don't feel like censoring myself but i also don't feel like going to jail."
from me: "quit acting like you don't like getting elephant trunked."
from blake the busser: "i swear to god if i have to be in the dish pit one more time i'm going to masturbate."
from me: "what do i need to do to get sent home?  if i shit my pants will that do the trick?"
whispered in my ear from diego the line cook: "i'm going to eat your ass raw." my response: "like eat it till it's raw?  or like raw in the opposite of being cooked?  which, either way, i don't get it.
you should work on your english."
and sometimes people just hang their bras up.